


voices carry

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Awkward Seduction, Dildos, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Roommates, Sexual Fantasy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, friends to almost lovers to enemies to lab partners to roommates to lovers, uprising don't interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Hermann accidentally walks in on Newton enjoying some private time and can't seem to get it out of his head. Meanwhile, Newton develops some worrying habits.or: newt jerks off, hermann pines (and jerks off), there's a glittery purple dildo, and everything works out in the end





	voices carry

**Author's Note:**

> so the other night i wrote an AU ficlet where newt and hermann are roommates with a side of mutual pining wherein newt attempts to seduce hermann through awkward means. the concept was too amusing so i decided to take the same concept and rework it into a NEW fic lol. i also recognize this is the second fic i've written where newt jerks off. take from that what you will
> 
> featuring oblivious, pining, horny nerds

Hermann arrives home from the grocery store a little earlier than he anticipated—traffic was fine and there were no queues for the cash registers—but he still expects Newton to greet him at the door and help him carry the groceries inside. As Newton always does. He’s not there when Hermann shoves the door to their flat open, though. He’s not where Hermann left him, either, lazing about on the sofa in his pajamas with his hand in a box of Frosted Flakes. The flat is...suspiciously silent.

Hermann shuts the door quietly with the end of his cane, sits the reusable bag down with only the slightest difficulty on the kitchen counter. “Newton?”

No reply. Perhaps he’s in his bedroom. Hermann doesn’t entirely care what Newton’s up to, but he would like help in unloading the bag, possibly even helping him start on dinner. Newton’s a much better cook than Hermann is. He makes his way to Newton’s bedroom door, reaching out to knock, ready to call out Newton’s name—

—and stops just outside when he realizes what, exactly, Newton is up to.

The door is cracked enough for Hermann to see inside. Enough for Hermann to see Newton, kneeling on his bed and moaning as he furiously pumps a bright purple dildo in and out of his ass. Hermann’s mouth drops open. His hand freezes in mid-air. He nearly drops his cane.

“Yes,” Newton moans, grinding his cock into the bedsheets. “Oh, _fuck_ —”

Hermann’s own bedroom is right next door, and he can slip into it quietly with no problem. He doesn’t want to embarrass Newton, of course. He doesn’t want to let him know he walked in on him doing—well. Newton’s moans are still audible, his little breathy whimpers, the light squeaks of his mattress's bedsprings, and—his back to his bedroom door, leaning quite heavily on his cane—Hermann realizes, unsurprisingly, that the whole experience has left him hard.

_Do not,_ Hermann tells himself. It’s an invasion of _privacy. Newton’s_ privacy. It’s not like Newton left the door open on purpose, not as if—not as if he _wanted_ Hermann to see the way his back arched each time the thick purple toy went in deep, the way his rim stretched around it, the way his cock was flushed red and hanging between his legs as he rubbed himself off—Hermann tugs open his belt buckle, his fly, his zipper, shoves his hand into his pants—what Hermann wouldn’t give to be the one in there with Newton, pushing the toy in and out of Newton himself, or maybe, maybe—Hermann speeds his strokes around his cock and groans—maybe _he_ could be the one pushing into Newton instead, drawing those noises out of him, making him squirm—next door, Newton lets out a loud, wordless cry, and it’s all Hermann needs to fuck up into his fist one more time and come, biting down his lip to keep from shouting.

Hermann slumps down, panting, while ejaculate cools on the inside of his underwear, and doesn’t emerge until some twenty minutes later when he hears Newton’s bedroom door open. “Hermann?” Newton says. He pads past Hermann’s bedroom to the kitchen. “Are you back?”

“Just a minute,” Hermann calls, and fumbles to change his slacks.

* * *

It was an accident, Hermann tells himself. He didn’t mean to walk in on Newton as he did, and Newton clearly thought he was home alone so it’s not as if he meant it either. Hermann couldn’t help the physiological response his body had to it _either_. It wasn’t necessarily because it was Newton. Hermann just—hasn’t had time to keep up a sex life. The war meant he and Newton were in the lab at all hours, and now that they’ve these new living arrangements, Hermann would feel downright strange bringing someone home. So, really, the sight of _any_ moderately attractive man—not that Hermann would ever admit to finding Newton attractive—in the throes of passion would’ve set Hermann off like that.

“Are you okay?” Newton says over dinner. He’s been watching Hermann carefully all night. Hermann supposes he’s justified in it; Hermann hasn’t _spoken_ all night. Each time he looks at his former lab partner—each time he tries to spark up _some_ conversation—all he can see is Newton crying out as he fucks himself with a purple dildo. (How often does he do that? Every time Hermann leaves the flat? Does he not even bother waiting for that—just as soon as Hermann takes a shower, or at night when Hermann sleeps? Does he leave his glasses on while he does it? Mortifyingly, Hermann feels his cock twitch again at the thought, right there at the kitchen table.)

“I’m fine,” Hermann assures him, willing himself to think of anything but Newton’s glasses sliding down his nose as he works himself open. He forces a smile. “Just a bit—tired.”

Hermann’s imagining it, of course, but Newton almost looks—smug. As if he knows what Hermann’s thinking of. Hermann looks away, back down at his bowl of pasta. “Sure,” Newton says.

After they clear away the dishes, Newton leans against the counter and gives him a long, pointed look. “I’ll be in my room,” Newton says. “Knock if you want me.”

“Want you?” Hermann repeats quickly, almost dropping the dishtowel he’d been folding up.

“Need me, I mean,” Newton says, lip twitching up, and he whistles as he waltzes down the hall to his bedroom.

Hermann doesn’t knock, but as he lies awake in bed that night, he does want Newton.

* * *

After that, it’s _obscene_ how much Newton masturbates.

Every night, every single night, as they lay with only a wall to separate them, he hears Newton’s moans, the creaking of his mattress, or he hears him in the shower they share, if he dare walk past the bathroom door when Newton’s in there, and it drives Hermann _crazy_ , with need, with lust, to see Newton and hear those moans up close, and night after night Hermann touches himself in time with Newton, and morning after morning Newton stares at him over his coffee mug and says _How did you sleep?_

It’s _maddening._

To top it off, Hermann starts to realize how...intrinsically _sexual_ Newton can be, even in the most casual of settings. Newton never liked wearing a shirt around their flat, even before, and Hermann was fine with it, of course, but now—now, when Newton forgoes a shirt, Hermann can’t look away from the swirls of colors across his chest, the little dark peaks of his nipples (does Newton play with those when he masturbates?), his sturdy biceps. Newton has ice cream right from the carton one night as they watch a movie, and Hermann misses the entire plot, too distracted by the way Newton sucks at his spoon, the way his pink tongue works over it, the slickness of his lips when he’s finished. (“Want some?” Newton says, offering the carton—vanilla—to Hermann, and Hermann can barely remember English enough to say no.) And Newton starts _touching him_ , more, resting his hand on Hermann’s knee as they sit, running his fingers through Hermann’s hair (“You need a haircut,” he says each time, as Hermann bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood), brushing their hands against each other when they’re in public.

(Newton calls him into his bedroom, one time, for what Hermann’s forgotten, and his purple dildo is just _lying_ out there on his dresser, and—it’s longer than Hermann realized, thicker, and _glittery_ — “Sorry,” Newton says with a grin when he sees where Hermann’s looking, “I didn’t mean to leave that out,” and when Hermann lies in bed that night he thinks about every inch of that long, thick dildo going up Newton’s nice, rounded ass.)

* * *

It—finally—comes to a head one night when they’re grading lab reports in silence. The silence is unusual for them: usually Newton will offer (unwanted) comments on Hermann’s students’ work or advice to _ease up_ on them, and Hermann will retaliate with comments of his own, and they’ll devolve into bickering and they’ll both go to bed with smiles on their faces and half a stack of ungraded reports, but since this whole thing began Hermann can barely find it in himself to make eye contact with Newton, let alone small talk, and worst of all, Newton’s _noticed_. Hermann has to say something. Maybe assure Newton that it’s okay if he wants to bring a date home one night to let out some of his tension (even if the thought of anyone other than Hermann laying his hands on Newton, of pushing Newton onto the bed and into Newton’s ass and making him cry out makes Hermann seethe with jealousy). They never discussed matters as private as their sex lives when they moved in together as a (completely natural) progression of their working relationship. Maybe it’s time they do now.

“Newton,” Hermann begins, finally setting down his pen, and Newton immediately looks up, “I just wanted you to know—”

“Yeah?” Newton says.

Hermann swallows. “If you ever want to bring anyone home—you’re more than welcome to. With a little warning in advance, at first.” At Newton’s blank stare, Hermann pushes on. “Only—it’s just—I’ve heard you, recently, is all.”

“Heard me?” Newton says.

“Heard you,” Hermann repeats, his face burning. “Ah. You know.”

Newton doesn’t look mad. He looks—well, he looks pleased, if anything. To Hermann’s surprise, Newton’s hand is creeping towards his knee. “Did you like it?” he says, voice low, and Hermann sucks in a deep breath, remembering Newton’s breathy little moans, the way he’d writhed on his sheets, and he nods.

Newton sighs in relief. “Oh, thank fuck,” he says, shoulders sagging, and he squeezes Hermann’s knee. “I thought you’d _never_ say something. At least until I, like, pulled a muscle in my arm or something.”

Hermann knits his brows together. Say something? “You mean to say you—”

“Yep.” Newton grins. “And all for you, _baby_.”

“You _moron_ ,” Hermann says, not sure if he means himself or Newton, and he grabs Newton by his stupid tie and kisses him right over the lab reports. “Do you know,” Hermann breathes into his mouth, “how many times I—”

“How many times you jerked off to me jerking off?” Newton says. “I _do_ know, actually. I could hear you.” Something mischievous sparks behind his eyes. “It was hot. Thinking of you next door, listening to me getting off—”

Hermann kisses him again, furiously, biting down on Newton’s lip and then running his tongue across it. Newton moans. “You loathsome little man,” Hermann murmurs, dragging his lips to Newton’s throat, not caring that the angle’s awkward and that Newton’s still clutching a pen.

Newton laughs; it vibrates against Hermann’s mouth. “How about I make it up to you?”

 

Newton lays on his back, this time, nude, his legs spread wide open, and Hermann sits between them and watches him expectantly. The dildo and a bottle of lube rest on the covers next to Newton. He _does_ keep his glasses on. “Usually,” Newton says, wiggling around a bit to get more comfortable, “I lie on my stomach for this. My knees. It’s more comfortable this way, but on my knees—” He reddens.

Hermann runs his hand up of one of Newton’s warm, soft thighs. “Yes?”

“It’s—easier to pretend that. Uh. It’s you.”

Hermann lets out a deep breath. “Did you always—”

“Obviously,” Newton says. He reaches for the lube, uncaps it, pours some on the fingers of his left hand. He starts skimming the fingers of his right down his chest, grazing his nipples (Hermann had been right about that too) then closing over his cock, and he carefully rubs his left index finger over his hole. “So I start,” Newton says, “like, uh—” He strokes his cock as he eases the tip of his finger inside himself, goes up to his knuckle, and Hermann’s mouth goes dry. “Like this,” Newton sighs, and starts building a steady rhythm up—in, and out, and in—and Hermann takes in the sight greedily.

Newton moans when he slips a second finger into himself, starts grinding back when he works up to a third, and he must graze his prostate because he bucks up into his fist and lets out a high-pitched whine that sends jolts of electricity to Hermann’s cock. (Hermann’s hard, he realizes, almost as hard as Newton, straining against the inside of his slacks.) “Usually,” Newton pants, fucking himself back on his fingers as he furiously strokes himself, “usually I go a little—slower, but, uh, it’s hard, since you’re—” His middle finger grazes deep again and he whimpers.

Hermann rubs his thigh again. “Take your time,” Hermann says soothingly. Sweat rolls down Newton’s forehead; his colorful chest heaves; his knees are spread wide enough apart that one of his legs dangles off his bed, and his rim is stretched wide around his fingers. “So lovely.” Newton’s cock jumps in his hand at the praise, and he lets out another little whine. Hermann very nearly smiles. “You’re doing excellently, Newton,” he says, pleased to see Newton’s strokes speed up.

“ _Shit_ ,” Newton says, “okay, okay, let me—” He pulls his fingers out and gropes around for the dildo, and—after Newton narrowly knocks it to the floor—Hermann hands it to him. Newton grabs it quickly. “Thanks,” he says breathily. He pours lube onto it with shaking hands and rubs it around a bit to make sure it’s properly coated before positioning it at his entrance. Hermann wets his lips. “Then,” Newton says, “then—” he pushes the first part of it into himself, a moan building deep in his chest, and it gets louder the deeper the dildo goes in; Hermann watches each glittery purple inch go in, unable to tear his eyes away, and he palms himself through his slacks for a bit of relief.

When the dildo’s in up to the base, Newton stops to let himself adjust, chewing on his lip. Then he pulls it out and rams it back in with a force that makes _Hermann_ nearly jump in shock, and Newton’s back arches. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, grinding down on the dildo.

“Are you—?” Hermann begins, but Newton just nods, pulls it out and pushes it back in.

“Uh-huh,” he gasps again, “I’m good, I like it—uh—” His eyes flutter shut as he starts working the dildo in and out of himself faster, harder, cock leaking over his hand, and it’s everything it was the first time Hermann saw Newton fucking himself on it and _more_ . “Oh— _Hermann_ —”

Hermann grinds his palm against his own erection. “Yes,” he breathes before he can stop himself—what is Newton imagining? Hermann fucking him like that, face to face, maybe his legs crossed behind Hermann’s back (maybe Hermann kissing him through it)? Newton said he preferred it on his knees; maybe he’s picturing Hermann fucking him from behind, gripping Newton’s soft thighs and kissing his spine. Hermann almost blushes at himself, and then remembers how _wildly_ ridiculous that would be, given the current circumstances.

Cautiously, enough that Newton can push him off if it’s not what he wants, Hermann leans in and nudges aside Newton’s hand at the base of the dildo to replace it with his own. Newton’s reaction is instantaneous: he nods frantically, pulls his hand up to his chest to pinch at his nipple instead, moans Hermann’s name, looks at him expectantly.

“Ah,” Hermann stammers, knowing he probably _should_ say something but unsure of what; he’s never attempted dirty talk once in his life. He flexes his fingers around the dildo’s base. “Newton. Would you like—”

Newton rolls his hips down, and Hermann’s fingers graze where he’s stretched around the dildo, and his heart beats wildly. “Come on, dude,” Newton pants, “just fuck me with it.”

Hermann pulls it out and pushes it back in as quickly as Newton had done, and he watches Newton’s face contort with pleasure, his mouth fall open, and he squeezes his hand around his cock. “ _Yes_ ,” Newton sighs, “harder—” Hermann does it again, and again, then grinds it down as Newton had, searching for the spot that’ll make— “ _Oh_ —!” Newton’s hand flies off his cock to clutch at his bedsheets, and Hermann feels smug satisfaction course through him and he grinds it down harder. “Hermann, _Hermann_ —” Hermann starts stroking Newton off steadily with his other hand as he pumps the dildo in and out of Newton’s ass, breathing almost as hard as Newton as his own cock leaks precome through his briefs, and his wrist has started to ache when Newton finally, finally cries out, clenches down around the dildo, and comes in spurts over his chest.

When Newton’s breathing has finally evened out, Hermann pulls the dildo out gently and settles it down on the bedsheets. He rubs at Newton’s thigh again, and Newton cracks an eye open. “Hey,” he says, and glances down deliberately at the bulge in Hermann’s slacks, “come on—” He reaches out lazily, tugging at the zipper, and Hermann rushes to beat him to and pulls his cock out. He lets out a hissing breath when Newton’s hand closes around it. “Next time,” Newton says, jerking Hermann off quickly, “ _you_ can fuck me, and—” Just the thought of being the one buried inside Newton—feeling the warmth of him, Newton clenching down hard around Hermann’s cock as he writhes and moans and begs—is all he needs, and he reaches his orgasm embarrassingly fast.

Newton draws his hand away, pleased and sated, legs still parted as he lies in an obscene sprawl. He wipes himself clean on the sheet as Hermann—his sweater vest stained with ejaculate, his reading glasses still perched on the edge of his nose (he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten to take them off)—sits watching him, unsure of what to do. Does he go back to his own bedroom? Thank Newton for a good time? He doesn’t want to leave, and thanking Newton seems ridiculous. Thankfully, Newton catches on to his discomfort.

“Take all that shit off,” Newton says, sitting up and pulling at Hermann’s sweater. “You must be _hot_.” Newton pulls off Hermann’s sweater and undoes his button-up, pushes both to the floor. He eases Hermann down onto his back on the bed and tugs off his slacks, and—with a coy little smile—his briefs, too. When he’s satisfied, he flings his arm across Hermann’s chest, curls up against his side. “There,” he declares. “Better.”

Hermann wasn’t exactly expecting this. “Thank you,” he says. “I thought…” He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence—that he thought Newton would kick him out, or something along those lines, once he’d had his fun. (In retrospect, the notion seems foolish. Absurd, really. Newton wouldn’t treat _anyone_ like that, let alone _Hermann_.)

Newton noses against his neck happily. Hermann closes his eyes, warm and content, wraps his arms around Newton. There's a light thud on the carpet.

“Shit,” Newton mumbles, “I’m pretty sure my dildo just fell on the floor. I haven’t vacuumed in here in, like, a year—"

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr and twitter at the usual spots! i also have my private nsfw twitter @hermanngayszler where i post nsfw wips and fic concepts (pls be 18+ and have ur age in the bio to follow)


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